


Exiled (Second Place Never Carried Me Home)

by Coraleeveritas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coraleeveritas/pseuds/Coraleeveritas
Summary: It had been many moons since the ravens had brought him truly good news.





	Exiled (Second Place Never Carried Me Home)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the middle of a crazy period at work, I work in higher education and September-October is always insane, but couldn't not participate in JB appreciation week. 
> 
> This is fic 1 of definitely 5, hopefully 6 and this one is inspired by David Cook's song Silver. 
> 
> Many many thanks to RoseHeart for looking over most of the JB fics at once. She's an absolute star and I don't know where I'd be without her help, friendship and guidance. 
> 
> Anything you recognise doesn't belong to me.

It had been many moons since the ravens had brought him truly good news.

Once in a while, he could find something to appreciate about his new surroundings. His exile to Essos to oversee the rebuilding of a civilisation, alongside another former Lord Commander, may have been amongst the most merciful judgement that could have been passed, but the fluttering of dark wings sent a spike of foreboding deep into his bones. The missing limb at the end of his right wrist still caused him pain on the mornings where he expected to hear the worst.

His brother was allowed to write, keeping him up to date with the going ons in the ever changing small council and passing along messages from their happily wed niece in Dorne. But though the words themselves were jovial enough, there was a distance growing between the lines that hadn't existed before sides had been chosen and the Great War had reunited them. He did miss Tyrion, but there was someone he wanted to see more and her letters were as frequent and comforting as the cooler air brought by the sunset.

Brienne of Tarth had never been good with words, yet even if she spent more time discussing crop yields and cloud patterns than how she felt being back home, he was grateful for each sentence she put to parchment, despite the sense of further loss and longing they unearthed in him. She was the Evenstar now, in all but name, stuck in the unenviable position of waiting for old age or illness to claim the life of her father before the title could officially be passed on. In another world, one without a conquering dragon queen, Brienne would still have a confidant by her side when that inevitably came to pass, a friend, a loved one, someone to share the familial burdens along with her heart and soul.

His repetitive dreams were like memories half lived and he was left haunted by the memory of her big blue eyes well into the next day, their last goodbye playing out over and over again.

Would she have cried on his shoulder if things were different and he was there to comfort her? A kiss would be too much to ask, to hope for if they were to find each other now, however optimistically his fantasies skewed.

He'd lost count of the number of times she had saved his life over the years, knowing just what to do to snap him out of self destructive cycles or stepping in front of blades heading for his weaker, undefended right flank. He had made sure each debt was compensated in kind but there was nothing he could do when her pleas that he could still be useful after spring dawned reached the only other person who saw him for who he was and not what he'd done.

He didn't get a chance to drown in her eyes a final time, to share the love that had kept him warm during the darkest of days, to promise he would always be hers to the end of their days, before the guards took him away again.

Flickers of doubt had clouded his thoughts for so long that he'd grown to believe Brienne maybe would be better off alone while he remained utterly miserable without her by his side, at his back, in his arms every night. One day, perhaps, it would be enough to tell her that he still loved her like the warrior had loved the maiden.

It would be a small confession now, too late and too painful to spill, but if this solitude was his price to pay for an act committed over half a lifetime ago, then maybe a heartfelt reply to one of her inconsequential updates would finally allow him to let go of a future they would never have. And, almost as if the Gods were laughing at him, both of his letters that morning came with the news that the Queen had decided it was time for Tarth to seal an alliance with a marriage Brienne would neither want or need.

'A man not unaccustomed to wealth,' Tyrion agreed with the Queen's decree, his cursive sprawling across the page, larger than life. 'But one without lands or title. A man strong enough to stand at the edge of the world and not falter but wouldn't think of asking our dear Brienne to hang up her sword now that she is home again. A man happy enough to be a consort and advisor not a king even when faced with the option of ruling.'

It was an admirable list of qualities, but there were few lords left who would fit one of his brother's promises never mind all three, and he had little trust left that the daughter of the Mad King would want to reward the woman who took down one of the ice dragons she'd lost to the long night.

He spent the rest of the morning lost in a daze of longing, negotiating and approving, knowing Brienne's maiden cloak would be blue and pink, silver and gold, clasped together with a pin made for a man with more than one hand. Customs of the new gods differed vastly to those in the Free Cities or the ones they'd both observed in the north, having experienced first hand how a heart tree could take the place of a droning septon.

The second unkindness of ravens arrived just after the delegation from Myr departed for lunch, the biggest bird coming to rest defiantly on his desk, distinctive blue-black feathers rippling like spilled ink as it stretched and settled.

The note it brought was brief compared to his morning readings, written in a childish code that he and Tyrion hadn't used since their formative years, coming up with it while he was taking the first step towards becoming a knight, squiring at Crakehall.

'A Lannister always pays his debts, brother. Look for the ship with the silver sails at the next new moon. You've served your sentence and she didn't want anyone but you.'

The raven bit at his fingers as he absently fed it scraps from his plate, too distracted to feel the pinches while he scribbled a quick reply to send not to Kings Landing but to Tarth, where Brienne hadn't wavered in her affections after all.

'I look forward to seeing you again, my lady wife. I never stopped loving you.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
